'Tis a plaine Case GENTLEMEN:
OH the distraction of this Factious age!
Have not wile-men (who are starke mad with rage,
Brought this faire Land to such a combustion.
That rhrough their means we may feare confusion.
A horrid Tragedy is now begun.
And still continues, would to God 'twere done.
'Tis write in bloud, as all the World may see,
And plainely reade this Kingdoms misery
Oh! who would ha' thought that two yeares agoe,
That so much Christian bloud should on th' earth flow,
As hath been shed this last yeare? curst be he
That was the cause of this Phlebotamie.
Some are confident in their opinion,
Papists have fomented this Division;
Others say, the Brownists (of whome beware)
Have stir'd up this unnaturall, wretched Warre:
For my owne part, I thinke they both have been
The Ruine of this Nation. Thes estill spin
The thread of our undoing: these a
[...]e those
Besides these two that are this Islands foes.
Nay' besides these, there are some high in State,
Who to this Land are most unfortunate.
I dare not name them yet ther's few but knowes
Who are the Kings and Kingdomes profest foes.
May all that wish ill will unto this Land,
Never subsist in Peace, but may the hand
Of divine Justice bring them unto shame;
Blaste their fame, forgotten be their name.
They that breath bloud, and do defie faire Peace,
May they want joy their sorrows never cease:
Torne with possessed whirlewinds may they dye,
And Dogs barke at their murtherous memory.
There is no honest heart but needs must greive,
To consider the Times wherein we live.
What eye can refraine from shedding salt teares?
To see the many mischiefs our vaine feares,
And causelesse jealousies have on us brought,
Kindled this strange fire, and all our woes wrought.
These are the Jonans, that the tempest rayse,
These are the Achans that our Israell amaze.
Wer't not for feares and jealousies at first,
We had not with the plague of Warre been curst,
But blest with happy Peace; there had not come
On this same Kingdome such a Martyrdome:
The King had not gon from us, no discontent
Arose at all, 'twixt Him and's Parliament.
But we our selves have caus'd our severall woes;
Though we be victors, yet w'have overthrowes.
Let the King or Parliament have the best,
Both King and Kingdomes suffers lyes opprest;
Let who can have the day, with your favour,
Both Armies are loosers, for their labour;
Much precious bloud is lost, many a poore soule,
And cannot the thought of this condole
This civill, uncivill warre? But you'l say,
If it please God our Forces get the day,
We shall be then most happy live secure,
Our dwellings being entrenched about most sure
From our enemies. Do not your selves deceive,
The enemi's within you that beleive.
'Tis not your Bulwarks can save your
[...]uck nor pelfe,
Man is the greatest enemy to himselfe.
'Tis not your boasting that y'are safe i'th City,
Y'are no where safe, though ye seeme neere so witty,
And thus much know from me, for verily,
W'are certaine of nothing but uncertainty.
The King not certaine is of's Royall Crowne,
Nor the Subject of what he calls his owne.
Such is th'inconstantcy' of this worlds Ball,
No man knowes whether he shall stand or fall.
Rely not therefore on the Arme of flesh,
Depend not on the Army neither trust fresh
Horses, not the power or prowis of Kings;
All these without the Lord are but vaine things.
Unlesse God keepe your City, the watchmen watch
In vaine, and without him much harms you'le catch.
Oh! whether is our ancient courage fled?
With our forefathers it is long since dead,
And now we English are even like our Bowes,
That once won Battailes, now skares non but Crows,
Our home-bred jarrs and civill contestations,
Have render'd us a storme to Forraigne Nations.
LONDON you count is yours, & the Court's yours,
The King must then be yours, and his Crown yours,
And what are you then? Royall theeves, you'le blow,
Seditious fire which still doth spread and growe
To such a huge intollerable flame,
That all your wit can never quench the same.
You that sit threatning what stormes you'le raise here,
Do you know where they'l light? I'le tell you where,
You like so many Joves, do throwe them downe;
You regared none, neither Scepter nor Crowne,)
And what then? you like Tyles on houses tops.
When foule wether comes, will shift the rainy drops,
From one, to one and whilest from you it sheads,
Where falls the showers? on the poor Peoples heads,
I'le tell you a pretty tale. There grew a tall,
A goodly fence of Hawthorn and of Bryer,
That when the Sunne was chollericke and hot
Kept sheepe and yeaning Lambs safe from his rage
Or when the Sky storm'd did his wrath asswage.
This goodly rowe of Bryers still anon,
Would as the Sheep went by, teare from their backs
Rags of their wooly coates, at which the sheepe
(Though by protection of this good old Bryer
They were fed fatt, and therefore were grown proud
Rep
[...]n'd, and did preferre bills of complaint
Up to the shepheards: The rude hairbrain shepheards
Cryed dovvn vvith this proud Bryer; the hedging bills
So layd about them, dovvn the Bryer did fall,
And vvha
[...] ensued? a tale most tragicall.
Being layd along, they trod on't in despite,
Put fire unto it, and burnt it in the flame,
The green bovvs vvept, seeing men past ruth or shame
What follovvs next? marry haile, raine and snovv,
Beat on the sheepe and Shepherds, cold vvinds blovv
But vvhers their shelter? gon. Then did the heat
So scorch them, that they had no lift to eate.
But wher's their coole shade now? gon, gon, & then
Others breake in, and feed, whilest these fed leane.
At last starved wolves and ravenous foxes came,
And eare up all left neither ewe, nor lambe;
The Shepherds pin
[...]d to nothing and like men
Made wise by their harmes, wisht th'ole Bryer agen.
I'have read a Text, preach you upon't tis plaine,
They stab themselves, that strike their Soveraigne.
YORKE, Printed by STEPHEN BVKLEY, 1643.